


a helping hand

by adamantine



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Anal Fingering, Bottom Keith (Voltron), Established Relationship, Finger Sucking, Inappropriate Use of Shiro (Voltron)'s Floating Hand, M/M, at least he bottoms to shiro's hand
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-08-05 06:33:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16362722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adamantine/pseuds/adamantine
Summary: Shiro absentmindedly taps his fingers, forgetting that one of his hands is not in the room.He freezes in shock when fingers stroke the back of his right hand. Keith. He’s quick to respond, rubbing soft circles on Keith’s chest. He means to be soothing—not even sure if Keith is awake or asleep—but he can’t exactly know where he’s touching and his fingers brush a hard nipple. Keith’s body rises in response, pushing up against his arm.Distantly, Shiro is aware of a question being asked about alien grass that sets off the presenter in a flurry of complaints.Or the one where Shiro stupidly leaves his arm with Keith.





	a helping hand

**Author's Note:**

> please look at how big shiro’s hand is and [WEEP](https://twitter.com/imoshen/status/1038609743927865344)

Shiro stretches his arms above his head. Or tries to at least. His left arm moves as intended, hitting his headboard, but there’s nothingness in place of his right arm. No feelings, no sensations. It’s turned off. It’s awkward sleeping with it on—tossing and turning when one of your arms has an unlimited range can make things a bit tricky—but the simplest reason he turns it off every night is so he doesn’t blind himself and Keith with its glow.

Shiro powers it on with a thought and is hit by the unexpected sensation of something warm wrapped around him. The hold around him grows stronger, then weaker, then stronger again in time to the rise and fall of a chest. Air brushes against his fingertips as Keith exhales.

He sits up and takes a proper look at the man sleeping next to him, holding onto his arm in a death grip Shiro knows from experience is impossible to get out of. It seems at some point in the night Keith stole Shiro’s arm off their nightstand and was cuddling it as if it were a soft pillow. Shiro contemplates extracting his arm out of Keith’s hold but it’s impossible without waking Keith up and he can’t bring himself to do that, not when Keith looks so peaceful and relaxed. If he’s dreaming, it’s a good dream. There’s a hint of a smile on his face.

It’s a bit difficult getting ready for the day missing one arm but it’s nothing he hasn’t done before. Except instead of phantom pains taunting him he's met with the comforting feeling of Keith holding him as he sleeps. It’s a type of background noise he can get used to. He bends down and kisses Keith’s forehead. Keith doesn’t stir. He’s fast asleep, likely exhausted from the night before. Shiro is too but unlike Keith, he has a meeting to get to and can’t linger any longer. He leaves his arm powered on, relishing in how he can feel Keith’s faint pulse through his palm as he walks across the Garrison.

Iverson raises an eyebrow at his missing arm.

Shiro shrugs it off. “The wolf’s ran off with it. He’ll bring it back eventually,” he says.

Iverson nods, satisfied with the explanation. The wolf steals everything.

The smell of coffee fills the room as people slowly trickle in. It’s too early for a meeting, but it’s difficult coordinating everyone’s schedules. They have to make do. Their presenter fiddles with a projector, struggling to make his presentation load. Shiro gets up to help him but the presenter finally masters the finicky technology on his own. “The Ecological Impact of Extraterrestrial Invasive Species on Earth, Part I: Flora” pops up on screen. It’s not a topic Shiro’s particularly interested in but he’s here to represent the Atlas, though he doubts the Atlas or anyone else at the Garrison can do anything to stop the spread of alien plants on Earth.

Twenty minutes into the presentation and Shiro’s mind is wandering. The presenter gestures wildly at what looks like two identical patches of grass but apparently aren’t as one is from a distant planet on the other side of the universe and one is from Earth. Apparently, the space-grass has been usurping Earth’s grass and that is Very Bad—Maybe.

“It all depends on your point of view,” the presenter offers helpfully.

Shiro absentmindedly taps his fingers, forgetting that one of his hands is not in the room.

He freezes in shock when fingers stroke the back of his right hand.  _Keith._  He’s quick to respond, rubbing soft circles on Keith’s chest. He means to be soothing—not even sure if Keith is awake or asleep—but he can’t exactly know where he’s touching and his fingers brush a hard nipple. Keith’s body rises in response, pushing up against his arm.

Distantly, Shiro is aware of a question being asked about alien grass that sets off the presenter in a flurry of complaints.

Shiro pushes Keith down and holds him in place until he stills. Tentatively, Shiro strokes Keith’s skin, mapping him. The hard jut of his collarbone, the space between his chest, the muscles of his stomach. He  _knows_  Keith’s body, can imagine it clearly as he traces it. He grabs Keith’s waist and marvels at how much of him his fingers are able to wrap around. The metal hand is so much _bigger_ than his real one. It’s easy to forget without seeing it.

The presentation veers into trees. He recognizes one of the species as being native to Olkarion. It’s circled in red and crossed out. It’s an invasive species that has taken a liking to the Appalachians after Sendak’s forces decimated the forestry there.

Keith tugs at his arm, directing him up. Shiro lets him lead. Soft pressure grazes Shiro’s knuckles. He flexes his hand and Keith kisses his fingertips, the pressure gentle and fond. He can feel the trace of Keith’s expression on his lips. It’s overwhelming even in his imagination. He can’t believe it sometimes, the love Keith has for him. A love that’s open and warm and relentless. It’s a love that’s all for Shiro.

He’s too caught up in feelings of awe and gratitude that he doesn’t notice when Keith shifts from chaste kisses into something more open-mouthed.

His leg jolts in his chair, catching a few curious stares. Keith’s tongue slides across his fingers. He clenches his jaw, bites down a hiss. The prosthetic translates sensations into something his brain can process, but it’s not quite the same as the real thing. Not in a lesser way but in a way that’s simply  _different_. If he sticks his hand in an oven or a freezer he can feel the extremes of temperature but in a strange, almost dreamlike way. It’s the absence of pain that throws him off. Pain is a warning, one an indestructible hand doesn’t need. So when sharp, clever teeth scrape against the sensors in his fingertips there’s no fear of harm, only pleasure.

His hand isn’t an inanimate object. It’s part of him, connected to his mind even at great distance. He can pull away from Keith’s quick tongue, can press a finger to Keith’s lips to say _stop_. Instead, he keeps his hand in place, floating—curling all but one finger back. Keith takes it into his mouth.

Keith’s mouth is wet and hot and his tongue is sloppy as he licks around the metal. He grabs Shiro’s wrist for support. Shiro focuses on keeping his arm up as Keith bobs his head back and forth on his hard finger. Shiro imagines Keith’s eyes looking up at him from long lashes, his hair tucked behind his ears.

Keith sucks on his finger and bites down with teeth sharper than a human’s. Shiro wonders if his eyes have taken on that yellow gleam, if his pupils have turned to slits, if his irises are undeniably purple instead of passable for blue.

Keith works his mouth on Shiro’s finger and Shiro lets it happen, encourages it even. He curls and uncurls his finger, traces the inside of Keith’s cheeks.

The presentation drones on. Shiro discreetly places his tablet on his lap and convinces himself it’s enough to hide that his cock trying to break free from his pants.

Alien cacti are the next topic of contention. The cactus on screen looks more phallic than it has any right being for something covered in spikes.

Concentrating on the presentation helps him stay composed but it backfires. He neglects Keith and Keith doesn’t like being neglected. Keith’s pulls his mouth away and sets him down on the sheets of their bed. Shiro twitches his fingers uselessly. He doesn’t know where Keith is—doesn’t want to move around the room blindly and accidentally hurt him. It’s agonizing losing the feeling of him, made worse when he has no other senses to track him by. Keith might not even be in the room anymore and he wouldn’t know it.

He’s antsy and restless. He’s not normally one to tap his foot, but he does so now. He considers powering down his arm—maybe the loss won’t feel so overwhelming if he can’t feel how he’s been discarded—but it’s not something that will go unnoticed.

He listens to the sound of the presenter’s voice without taking in any of his words. He’ll have to ask for a copy of the presentation later. His attention is too far gone.

He snaps his legs together. Keith coats his fingers in something slippery and rubs his fingers against the metal. Shiro responds automatically, turning up the temperature in his arm the way he knows Keith likes it, a little hotter than his flesh hand.

He knows distinctly that this is a bad idea. He’s trapped in a meeting for the foreseeable future and barely survived Keith’s mouth. He can’t see Keith, can’t hear Keith. He can only go by memory and the feel of Keith’s body. He might hurt him. He’ll probably be clumsy.

The risk of it shouldn’t be a positive but it is. Shiro can’t help himself. He has a reputation for being straight-laced, for being a model soldier, but it’s a cheap veneer easily washed off—especially by Keith. Keith makes him want to break the rules, makes him want to live free and wild.

Keith positions Shiro’s hand between his legs. Shiro flexes a finger, trying to get his bearings. Keith’s thighs clench around him, not quite locking him in place but it’s a close thing. He finds Keith’s hole and presses. He curls it back in surprise when it almost slips in. It’s hard to tell when his finger is so slippery, but he thinks Keith has already prepped himself. He’s not being _entirely_ reckless then.

Shiro gains the confidence to be a little more sure of himself, a little rough even. He pushes his finger inside of Keith. The stretch is still a lot, even with all of Keith’s prep. Everything about the arm is _big_. It’s more like using two fingers instead of one. Keith’s thighs tremble. If the rest of Shiro was in the room this would be the part where he reminds Keith to relax, maybe kisses him as a distraction.

When Shiro’s fully inside of Keith he stops and waits. He doesn’t want to move until Keith is ready. The moment comes when Keith bucks up against him impatiently. He can imagine the pout on Keith’s face, the harsh snap of his voice as he tells Shiro to _move already_. Shiro obeys, pulls back. Keith chases after him.

Sweat gathers at Shiro’s forehead and he wonders absently if moving his prosthetic hand so vigorously is the cause or if he’s simply sweating knowing he has a finger deep inside Keith’s ass as he sits calmly surrounded by some of the Garrison’s best and brightest.

Keith’s thighs clench around him, this time truly freezing him in place. Keith taps his arm, a request to stop. Shiro doesn’t know why, but he does what Keith wants. He doesn’t have to wait long to find out the reason.

Keith adds more lube to Shiro’s fingers, focusing on the one Shiro hasn’t used yet.

When he’s done, he wraps his thighs around Shiro and guides him back in. Keith’s tight—it’s noticeable in a way it wasn’t before. It makes Shiro nervous. He can’t see if Keith’s face is scrunched up in pain or pleasure. Keith doesn’t care for his hesitation. He pushes Shiro in. It’s a sudden, swift motion that makes Keith buck up in pleasure.

Shiro doesn’t even pretend to pay attention to the presentation anymore. He can’t. It takes all of his concentration to keep the rest of his body still as he fucks Keith with his fingers. He spreads his fingers apart, feels the way it makes Keith come undone. A vicious snap of his wrist makes Keith writhe against him. Shiro imagines Keith’s cock bouncing neglected against his stomach. Or maybe Keith is stroking himself to the rhythm of Shiro’s thrusts, craving more than just Shiro’s fingers.

The thought of Keith touching himself spurs Shiro on. He moves harder, faster until he’s certain Keith doesn’t have the ability to think about anything that isn’t Shiro’s fingers inside of him.

Keith’s insides clench around him and it’s obscene the way Shiro feels it. The sensors in his hand deliver the sensation impartially, completely unaware of what it does to him. Shiro exhales. The sound feels loud and ragged in his ears.

Shiro digs his nails into his thigh, trying to clear his mind with pain.

Keith is close and Shiro needs him to get there or they’re going to cause a scandal the likes of which the Garrison has never seen.

Shiro reaches out to the hand with his mind. It’s similar to how he communicates with the Atlas, but the arm is  _him_  and not its own entity. There’s no presence to it.

He finds what he needs and activates it.

Shiro’s fingers vibrate and Keith screams. Shiro can _feel_ it tear through him. His whole body shakes as he clenches around Shiro with an intoxicating force.

Shiro keeps fucking him. He doesn’t stop even when Keith collapses, his thighs loosening their hold around him.

Keith taps his arm.  _Enough._  Shiro reluctantly pulls out of him, makes his fingers go still.

The rest of the meeting goes by in a blur. His cock is hard during most of it, patiently waiting for someone to touch it. Shiro almost breaks out into a panic when Keith tries to lick his fingers clean. As it is, he draws his hand back so fast it zooms across their room and knocks over what he hopes isn’t his favorite picture of them (they’re on their honeymoon—the ocean a clear, bright blue—though the reason Shiro loves this particular picture is because Keith is looking at _him_ instead of the camera) before hitting the wall and falling to the ground, stunned. He’s probably splattered lube all over their bedroom in his hasty retreat. _Great._

Keith picks up his arm off the floor and carries it somewhere. Warm water envelopes him and Shiro guesses he’s been put in the bathroom sink.

Keith cleans him, attentive to every nook and cranny. Shiro’s cock twitches, pleased at how gentle and thorough Keith is. It wants Keith’s hands next.

Keith dries him off. When he’s done a message pops up on Shiro’s tablet.

> **k.shirogane:** is your super important meeting done yet  
>  **t.shirogane:** It’s wrapping up, I think.

The message comes through the Garrison’s network and while not actively monitored, it’s not exactly  _private_  either. Anyone with the right clearance can look through the network’s logs. But it’s not like he has a choice. Pulling out his phone to chat is too noticeable.

> **k.shirogane:** it better be  
>  **k.shirogane:** i’m ready for round 2 and i’d like the rest of you to be here this time ;)

Shiro nearly falls over himself getting out his chair when the presentation ends. He doesn’t bother staying for questions, ignoring the bewildered stares that follow him as he zooms out of the room. He knows he’s being rude, but he can’t bring himself to care. He has somewhere more important to be.

**Author's Note:**

> yeah they're married, what of it


End file.
